Adult Babies Anonymous
They gathered around, seated on the floor in a little circle, as usual. Despite most having gathered like this on multiple occasions- too many to count, most still had trouble making eye contact with each other. They were all still embarrassed to be here to some degree or another. Some of them thought that that might have been a good thing. They needed to be embarrassed. Their shame kept them sane. Others thought their self-loathing wasn’t a crutch as much as much as a weight to be cast off, lest they drown.
Some, if you didn’t know any better, you might not look twice at. They wore loose fitting pants and shorts with elastic waistbands and t-shirts. Who cared if their shirts all had pictures of popular cartoon characters? Plenty of adults liked cartoons these days. You might even not think much of their Velcro shoes. If you looked a little harder, you might notice the thin white plastic slips poking out the back of their waistbands, or the more-than-slight bulge around their crotches and buttocks. If they shifted their weight or moved a little and no one was talking, you’d likely hear the crinkling rustle coming from their backside. You’d definitely notice how more than one had a pacifier clipped to their shirt.
One or two wore overalls. This wasn’t exactly stylish, but it didn’t look particularly out of place on an adult, except that it stopped at the knees and if you paid attention, there were little brass buttons running along the inseam. Also, while plenty of T-shirts had cartoon characters on them for all ages, you’d be hard pressed to explain away a twenty-to-forty-something person with Tigger or the Little Mermaid on the bib of their overalls. A similar bulge between their legs hinted at what lay underneath their clothes.
There was nothing remotely subtle about the rest in attendance. They wore onesies with snaps in the crotch and leg gathers poking out to tickle their inner thighs. Others wore dresses that revealed their padded behinds every time they bent over. Their hems were “long”, only because the others’ dresses covered even less of their wearer’s plastic underwear. One or two wore only t-shirts, their diapers on full display, tapes and childish decorations for anyone and everyone to behold.
They were all grown ass men and women dressed up as little more than toddlers. Their behavior was childish as well. A purple ball with green stars rolled back and forth across the circle; stopping between the legs and padded crotch of one person before being rolled to another across the way. Many binkies were sucked out of nervous habit rather than left dangling from their owner’s collars. For most, it was easier to do these things out of thoughtless habit and sensory distraction than to look at each other. It was easier than looking at themselves.
Any person who had ever been responsible for the care of a child younger than three could also tell that not all of their diapers were dry. Any onlooker could recognize the obvious swelling and bunching in the crotch. A quick squeeze and a telltale squish would confirm any lingering suspicion. Whether or not they knew they were due for a change was anyone’s guess.
Softly playing through the speakers in the room was the music that they had grown up to. “Mary Had A Little Lamb” was piping through at the moment, right after a rousing round of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”, and if things really got cooking, the “Hokie Pokie” might get going. They ignored it, having listened to these songs countless times before.
The smell of urine and baby powder lingered and hung in the air around them all, but they had long gone nose blind to the odor. For them, this was life. As much as they might wish it otherwise, they could no longer deny this to themselves. That’s why they were here: To find acceptance of themselves and each other in their lives and regain some form of dignity in the process.
The leader, a young blonde woman with a pixie cut, her outfit a pink onesie with the words “Little Princess” on it, stood up and calmly picked up the purple ball. She returned to her spot and sat down. All eyes were on her.
“Now, quietly,” she said in a voice just above a stage whisper, “let’s begin with the affirmation.”
Then, in an imprecise unison, they began:
I am an Adult Baby.
I am both adult, and baby.
This is a fact.
Nothing I say or do can change that.
If I am to be happy with myself and my life, I must accept myself as I am.
I wear diapers and that is okay.
I do not drink from cups anymore and that is okay.
I sleep in a crib and that is okay.
I may play with toys and that is okay.
I am completely dependent on someone else and that is okay.
I cannot help that I have this part of myself and that is okay.
I am still a living, thinking, feeling human being and am deserving of respect from both myself and others.
I am still an adult and capable of behaving like one where possible.
I am not less of an adult or a person because of these things.
Some people, the newest members, didn’t know this prayer by heart, and just mumbled along, trying to keep quiet enough so that they could hear the others. Maybe then they’d be able to recite it as easily as the rest.
That’s what this was in essence; a prayer. You didn’t need to have words like “God” or “Amen” to make it a prayer. It was a lot like a prayer in other ways, too. It had the same rocky start, with some people starting and stopping milliseconds before others, creating a kind of echo effect. It had the same blocky cadence that was easy enough to follow along after a sentence or two, so long as you already knew the words. Even if you didn’t, you could get the gist in the middle, with the repeated phrase of “and that is okay.”
When the chant came to an end, all eyes quietly returned to the woman in the pink onesie, still holding the purple ball with green stars on it.
“Who wants to go first?” she asked. Quietly, a hand went up, and the ball rolled to its owner. Everyone looked at a man, a boy really, just out of high school by the looks of it; barely old enough to smoke, not likely old enough to drink. Still, he was dressed more maturely than many of the others. He wore shorts and a t-shirt. Only the slight crinkle of his diaper as he stood up- likely still dry at the moment because of how little it bulged under his shorts- gave away that he was dressed for daycare instead of a third period Psychology 101 class.
“Hi,” he said quietly. “I’m Tom. I’m an Adult Baby.”
“Hi Tom,” the rest of the group said in near perfect unison. They were quiet too. They were always quiet. By their very nature they never wanted to draw too much attention to themselves. They just wanted to be who they were and be otherwise left alone. So whether it was out of paranoia or practicality, these meetings never got particularly loud; lest some real or imagined other hear them and ruin their gathering.
“So,” Tom said, “My girlfriend…” he stopped himself, “I mean, my Mommy, started letting me eat with a spoon and feed myself.”
“And how does that make you feel?” the woman in the onesie asked.
“Like a bi-…” the young man stopped himself again. He closed his eyes tight and breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring. “It makes me feel good. It makes me feel really good. Like I’m on the right track, or something in…” again he stopped, searching for the right words as if picking the wrong one would pull the pin on a hand grenade. “In my relationship,” he concluded.
“Do you feel that this is a reward from your Mommy of some kind, or more of a natural progression?” the leader asked.
“Uh, a little bit of both, I guess.” Tom shrugged, his gaze lowering to the floor.
“Are you afraid of your Mommy taking away this new freedom that you feel you’ve earned?”
Tom gulped. “Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking and his throat dry. “A lot.”
The leader of the group looked around the circle. “Who else is experiencing or has experienced what Tom is going through? Who else has gotten a new privilege or special treat from their Mommy or Daddy and is afraid to displease them for fear of losing it?” A few hands went up.
“See Tom?” she said. “You’re not alone in this. Lots of us are going through or have gone through what you’re experiencing.” Tom nodded, meekly. “What I would suggest is that you just do what makes you happy and be as communicative as you can be with your Mommy. She may let you feed yourself more and more. But if your Mommy takes it away, and wants to start spoon feeding you again, don’t think of it as a reflection on yourself. It may be that your Mommy just wants more control, like she’s nurturing you, and she’s not ready for you to feed yourself. Don’t take it as a punishment or an indicator of anything else than her own needs.” A lot of others were nodding along with her.
“Okay,” Tom whispered, nodding as he sat back down.
“Who’s next?” the group’s leader asked. Another hand went to the air. The ball was rolled and caught. A big man stood up. The flecks of gray in his air, and the thinning near the back contrasted his actual age to how he dressed. His beer gut, covered by his baby blue onesie, was almost as big as the ball.
“Hey, ya’ll. I’m Roger. And I’m an Adult Baby.”
“Hi Roger,” the rest said.
“So, I’ve been like this,” he gestured to himself, the bulging and bunching by his crotch signaling that he was anything but dry, “for as long as I can remember.” Somber looks with no small amount of pity stared back at him. “Yeah, I know.”
“Anyways,” the good ‘ol boy went on, “I think I’ve got the opposite problem that Tom had. Y’see, my Mommy has started to uh…breastfeed me.”
“Like I said to Tom,” the group leader said to Roger. “It’s not your fault or an indication of how much an adult you are if your Mommy decides to treat you-“
“No, it ain’t that, ma’am,” Roger interrupted. His face became three shades pinker. “The thing is, I kinda like it. Like…a lot. I kinda like it a lot. Maybe in ways that babies don’t normally like it if ya catch my drift.” Now it was everyone else’s turn to blush.
“Oh?” the group leader said before the twinkle of recognition ignited in her eyes. “Oooooh…” She stifled a bit of nervous laughter so as not to embarrass the man. “Well, that’s perfectly fine. There’s nothing wrong with one person…enjoying another person’s…” she licked her lips and held her hands out, palms up, cupping the air, “assets.”
A ripple of nervous and relieved laughter spilled out of the group, and the tension left the circle if only for a minute. A few people mimed her hands and whispered the phrase “huge tracts of land” to each other, snickering all the while.
“But what if I’m liking it for the wrong reasons?” Roger asked, his lip curled slightly.
“As far as I’m concerned, there’s no wrong reason for you to enjoy skin to skin contact with your Mommy. Everyone needs that kind of intimacy every once in a while, no matter what age they are. Enjoy it. Take it for what it is. Don’t deny yourself. If you try to purge these urges from yourself, you’ll only end up binging so much harder down the road and completely falling apart.”
“But, I’ve been like this as long as I can remember.” Roger emphasized.
“So?” the group leader shrugged. “You’re still an adult. Plenty of adults like sucking on women’s breasts. You’re no different.”
“I’m no different,” Roger repeated. “I’m no different.” He nodded, appreciatively, still talking to himself with a new mantra. Then he sat down. A few in the group quietly wondered if they’d see Roger next time.
A slender hand reached for the ceiling. The ball was rolled. A petite Hispanic woman, her long black hair tied into pigtails with little yellow ribbons, stood up. Her diaper just barely peeked out from underneath her denim jumper.
“I’m Mimi,” the woman said. “I’m an Adult Baby.”
“So,” Mimi began, “my Daddy has started seeing another woman.” There was a murmur in the group. Any tension that had left the circle from talking about grown men sucking on titties came right back.
“And you’re not okay with this,” the leader said, matter-of-factly.
“No,” Mimi all but snapped. “I’m not.”
“And what are you not okay with?”
“Seriously?!” Mimi looked shocked and offended.
“I’m not condoning or excusing his behavior,” the leader held up her hand. “But it may help you to articulate everything that’s wrong to you.”
“Well,” Mimi inhaled deeply and hissed out a few labored breaths before going on. “First off, I know he’s fucking her,” she said. “I mean, it’s not like they do it in front of me, but I know, trust me, they do.”
“And before I was his baby girl, we used to make love all the time, but now the only time he touches me down there is when he’s changing me or giving me a bath. It’s like as soon as I started wearing diapers, I stopped being sexy to him. And that really…sucks.” She looked out to the other diapered adults. “You guys think I’m sexy, right?” Several of the men, and a few women nodded enthusiastically.
“And now he’s going out all the time, and hiring these strangers to come spend time with me and sit with me.”
“Babysitters?” someone from the group asked.
“I am not calling them that,” Mimi spat.
“Okay,” they bowed their head. “Sorry.”
“So now I’ve got more and more people coming in and out of my life,” Mimi said, “constantly violating my personal space and trying to run my life, all while my husb….my Daddy, takes some other woman out to eat and tries to put his dick in her, and I’m just more and more pissed off about it.”
“Flexibility is important in these kind of relation-“, the leader started.
“I’m not finished,” Mimi interrupted.
“And I think his new girlfriend is a Mommy. I haven’t met her yet, but I’ve seen pictures of her and a baby boy, and he seems really into it.”
“How into it?” the leader asked.
“I don’t think he’d be a good fit here.” Everyone nodded, grimly. “I’m afraid that if their relationship goes further, and she and her baby boy move in, then I might….I might…”
“Have more in common with her baby boy than you might be comfortable with?” the group leader offered. Mimi nodded and sniffled a bit.
“Well, that is tricky,” she admitted, rustling her own short blonde hair. “Keep us informed of what’s going on with that in the future. In the meantime, just keep flexible and remember that your Daddy still loves you. You likely wouldn’t be here if that was the case. If it’s one thing we all have in common, it’s that we all have Mommy’s and Daddy’s that love us. I’ve never met an Adult Baby without a Mommy or Daddy. But he might….oh,” she stopped herself. Mimi didn’t appear to be listening at the moment.
Mimi’s stare had gone blank, her expression muted, yet almost thoughtful as she stared past the circle of Adult Babies and into the middle distance. Her knees bent and her padded butt stuck out from under her jumper as she squatted down to the ground.
There was an uncomfortable silence from the rest of the group, all but the most inexperienced members tastefully looking away as a low moan escaped Mimi’s lips. She stood up a few seconds later and sighed in relief; her diaper sagged at the back a bit more than it had a moment before.
“Sorry,” Mimi said, oblivious to her surroundings. “Thanks for the advice.” Then she sat down and grimaced as the blood drained away from her own face as a realization hit her. Everyone looked away to save the girl some embarrassment. Gingerly, very gingerly, Mimi got back up waddled away, bow legged towards the far corner of the room.
“She’ll be back. Do we need to say the affirmation, again?” The group leader asked. Everyone shook their heads “no”. They were fine. Or so they said…
Before the ball could be rolled to the next person, the sound of tapes being ripped off plastic rang out like a gun shot, followed swiftly by cries muffled by a pacifier and cheery coos in motherese. Several diapers that had been dry were suddenly wet as people shivered in revulsion and dread. No one lied to themselves, though. If they hadn’t already, they’d be going through what Mimi was enduring right now by the end of the day. All of them already had enough times.
“New guy,” the leader rolled the ball to an unfamiliar face. “Introduce yourself.”
The man grabbed the ball, and then looked around nervously. And why shouldn’t he? He wore only a t-shirt and diaper; not even shoes. He was tall and gangly, his puffy diaper seeming that much bigger on him by comparison. His brown hair was mussed and unkempt like he had just woken up from a nap in the back seat of a car. The speckled frogs numbered one through five on the front of his diaper had puffed out a bit as the man had just peed a little, possibly unknowingly.
“Oh I’m not…” he said, fumbling with the ball. “I’m just here to… I’m not… I’m here because…Mark,” he said finally. He stood up. “Mark. I’m Mark. Well, this is quite an operation.”
“It’s a support group, Mark.” The leader smiled warmly. “How long have you been an Adult Baby?”
“I’m not really an Adult Baby,” Mark said.
“Are you an adult?” the leader asked.
“Well, yeah,” Mark replied.
“Do you wear diapers?”
“No…” Mark replied. “I mean lately, yeah…but-“
“Do you use those diapers for their intended purpose?” the line of questioning went on.
Mark reached down and gave the front of his diaper a squeeze. His eyes bugged out a little and he stared down at himself in disbelief. He definitely hadn’t known that he’d wet. Not a great sign for a new guy.
“I have been…yeah” he admitted.
“Do you drink from a bottle or a sippy cup?” she continued.
“Yeah,” Mark sheepishly confirmed.
“Have you been sleeping in a crib?” the leader asked, clearly knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Mark said.
“Do you have a Mommy or a Daddy who takes care of you?”
“My boyfriend…” Mark sighed, sounding defeated. “I was going to propose before-“
“And do you find yourself playing with toys?” the leader pressed, not letting Mark finish his sentence.
“Well, yeah,” Mark told her. “But only when I get really bored.”
“Sounds to me, then, that you fit our definition,” she said. Everyone else in the circle nodded in agreement. They smiled up at him, it was the smile of misery loving company.
“But I don’t like it…” Mark told them.
“Most of us don’t,” she said. “Or didn’t, anyways. But we’ve come together to find some measure of sanity in this crazy world that we share. Hopefully,” she added, “to find happiness. Now, how long have you been like this?”
“A little over a week.”
That got a sympathetic response from the group. Everyone shook their heads and tsked, as they remembered as best they could when they’d been new to this life.
“How’d it happen?” she asked him. Meanwhile, Mimi slinked back to the group smelling overmuch of baby powder and diaper cream. She sat down and one of her friends whispered what she’d missed. Even she let out a low “oooooo” in sympathy.
“Well,” Mark said, “I used to be a-“
The leader held up her hand. “Best not mention your old job. As adults, we don’t include professions or material possessions in our identity. Those can be taken away from us and as a result so can our identity if that’s how we define ourselves.”
“Oookay,” Mark bit his lip. “Well, one day I was going to propose to my boyfriend,”
“The one who’s your Daddy now?” the leader clarified.
“Yeah,” Mark nodded. “And I was so nervous at dinner that I spilled water all over my lap.”
“Always starts with wet pants, one way or another,” someone whispered.
“And then he just grabs my arm and takes me to the restroom,” Mark continued. “ And then in the restroom he yanks down my pants and says something about needing to clean me up, and there’s this vending machine just outside the bathroom that sells diapers with wipes and stuff in case kids have an emergency or something and he drags me back out without my pants or underwear on and I’m just freaking out.”
“And he’s really strong, too, right?” Tom spoke out. “Like so strong you can’t break away from him?”
“Tom, please,” the leader said. “It’s Mark’s turn to talk.”
“I think we’re gonna get kicked out of the restaurant,” Mark nodded over to Tom. “And I’m sure somebody saw me there, naked from the waist down, but nobody said anything. Then he dragged me back in and made me lie on the floor and put…” he gestured to his padded crotch, “one of these on me.”
“And then what happened?” Everyone was listening, and no one was listening. They all knew how this story went, more or less. But in their mind’s eye they were telling their own version.
“Then he takes me back to our table, and I’m freaking out and he doesn’t seem to understand why. And I start shouting and a waitress comes by and offers to walk me around while he eats his dinner. And he says ‘yes’, of all things.” Mark sniffled a bit.
“And then,” Mark went on, reliving the moment as he spoke of it, “this lady just picks me up as if I didn’t weigh a thing and starts carrying me around wearing my nicest shirt and a diaper that’s way too big to be a baby diaper, but it still looks like one.”
“Did anything else change?”
“Yeah,” Mark nodded. “I get carried around and passed around by different waitresses trying to shut me up. They take me into the kitchen. They walk around the parking lot. And every time I enter a new room, or they hand me off to somebody else, everything seems…I dunno…”
“Bigger?” Mimi offered.
“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “Bigger. And when they finally bring me back to my table, there’s this little highchair, like the kind you find in restaurants, only it’s not little to me anymore, and my boyfriend is gigantic. And he gets some macaroni and cheese and he spoon feeds me, with a bib and everything. And suddenly, I need to pee, and I’m squirming and trying to get out, but I can’t.”
“Then what happened?”
“I did the only thing I could,” tears dripped onto Mark’s cheeks. “I peed myself. I wet my diaper and finished my macaroni and cheese.” Other members of the group had started wiping away at their own tears, the pain of their own transitions renewed. “Then, my boyfriend reached underneath the table, and took out a diaper bag that hadn’t been there before, and took me back to the restroom. He changed me, and buttoned up my shirt on the bottom between my legs. It was a fancy little onesie that looked like a fancy shirt.”
“Only that time, he didn’t lay me on the floor. I was small enough then to fit on the little fold out changing table on the wall.” Mark’s breath was becoming ragged. “Th-th-th-then he took me to his car; strapped me into a car seat that hadn’t been there before. W-w-we…went home and he put me in jammies and laid me down in a crib…I don’t…I don’t know where…where the cr-crib came from. And he’s been calling himself my Daddy ever siiiiiiince!”
Mark bawled and buried his face into his hands, sitting back down on the floor in a heap. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed. Several people soothingly shushed him and rubbed his back, telling him it’d be okay, lying to him if only to give a little comfort.
“You’re not alone, Mark,” the group leader said. “Everyone here has a story like yours. Everyone here went through a day or a night like you did. One day we were adults, then the grown-ups put us back in diapers and the world grew around us while we blinked. We were lucky enough to find each other, and we help each other by sharing our stories and our struggles.”
“Bullshit,” a woman called back, loudly. All eyes turned to the woman opposite Roger. She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties. Her hair was curly and permed with a butterfly headband resting above her forehead. Her green dress was longer than most, but not long enough to preserve any semblance of adulthood and the stark white tights over her diaper and Mary Jane shoes didn’t help much either as she waddle marched to the center of the circle.
“You think this is helping us?” she asked accusingly. In another life she might have passed for a typical soccer mom telling the coach to put her kid in, or the president of the PTO making demands to the principal. Right now, she was the toddler on the verge of a tantrum.
“All this is, Maureen,” she spit out the name like it was a curse word, “is an opportunity for you to hold court and tell other people how to deal with their problems.”
“Is that so, Joanne?” the group leader looked passively back at her accuser.
“I knew little queen bee bitches like you back when I was in high school back when you were still in diapers the first time around,” the woman, Joanne, said. “You can’t be happy unless you’re telling other people what to do and someone is acknowledging your genius, or how pretty you are, or how good of a person you are.”
“I’m quite content at the moment,” Maureen shrugged.
“Of course you are,” Joanne taunted her. “You get to rule daycare. You get to be queen of the clique. Well maybe that’s how you pretend to be an adult, but I’m tired of your bullshit.”
“I’m not pretending to be anything other than what I currently am,” Maureen said, her eyes suddenly deadly serious. “I’m just trying to survive with my adulthood intact. I’m trying not to regress further than I already have.”
“But it’s not intact,” Joanne shouted. Everyone else sucked in their breath. With Mark’s crying and Joanne’s shouting, the daycare workers might come and break up their little group. “I want to smoke a cigarette again,” Joanna ranted. “I want to take a shot of whiskey! I want to fuck my Daddy’s brains out! I want to be a grown-up! I want to use the potty! I want to be a big gir-!”
“Be very careful about what you’re going to say next and listen to the words that just came out of your mouth, Joanne.” Maureen stood up and growled. She stood up and got in the older Adult Baby’s face. Her lips were snarling, her eyes were burning, but her voice was only just loud enough so that everyone in the circle could hear her.
“I might have been in this group the longer than anyone here, but I did not start it. The people who did start it weren’t Adult Babies anymore when I got here, and the people who brought me in aren’t Adult Babies anymore, either. They’re. Just. Babies. They’re out there, right now, right outside this circle.”
Maureen gestured outward. Everyone looked around the giant daycare that they were held prisoner in seven to ten hours a day, not counting weekends. All around them were people who looked just like them; grown ass men and women, dressed in diapers and baby clothes, toddling and crawling around.
The key difference was these people didn’t seem to mind that they were being treated this way. They played with blocks, and drank from bottles. They crawled on the floor, playing pretend games and dress up like any toddler might do. They had their diapers changed and their asses wiped by more or less complete strangers. Giant men and women, grown-ups, read stories to them and put them down for naps in giant cribs and play-pens.
They still spoke English and could talk well enough, but not in the same way that an adult could. They were more interested in cartoons and playing outside on the swings than in current events, or sports, or politics, or sex. They couldn’t count very high, or recite the alphabet. Most of them knew only a few colors and shapes at best. Holding any conversation outside of “let’s play” was a struggle to be sure.
None of them were even close to potty-trained. Everyone sitting in the circle had used their diapers and would continue using them for the foreseeable future. They were all-but completely incontinent. But the people playing outside the circle barely knew what a potty was and couldn’t begin to tell you how to use it. The intricacies of the flush toilet were completely beyond them.
If they had a problem with you, they were more likely to cry or tell a grown-up than to talk things out. If they got really mad they might push you, not even taking a second to reason that their actions might earn them a time out and a spanking when their Mommy or Daddy picked them up.
None of them remembered a time when they were adults, or could foresee a future where they were grown-ups. They were babies, and always would be. Plain and simple. And as far as the little group inside the circle knew, those types were in the vast majority. They were the endless and mindless horde that the Adult Babies were hoping to avoid joining.
“You know what happened to them?” Maureen sneered at Joanne. “They got tired of sitting around and sharing their struggles with their peers, too. They were tired of learning how to deal with this. They were tired of the constant adjustments and the constant compromises. They didn’t want to be Adult Babies. They wanted to be grown-ups, instead. And do you know what kind of talk started coming out of their mouths?” Maureen paused for effect.
“They started whining about using the potty,” Maureen said. “Not the toilet. Not the commode. Not the loo. The potty. And they wanted everyone to know; especially the other babies and the grown-ups; that they weren’t Adult Babies. They weren’t babies at all. No. They needed everyone to know, they needed that positive affirmation that you accuse me of craving, that they weren’t big babies. Wanna know what they insisted they were? What they had to be called and howled to the moon every time they were dragged off to the changing table or plopped in a crib?
“What?” Joanne whispered, trembling with fear.
“Big kids.” Maureen told her loud enough so that everyone could hear. “They insisted that they were big boys and big girls and that they didn’t need diapers or bottles or cribs. But before long, when you asked them how old they were, they’d hold up a couple of fingers and say ‘this many’. Now they can’t even remember a life where they didn’t have Huggies on and their favorite show wasn’t Yo Gabba Gabba.”
“I might be an Adult Baby,” Maureen went on, “But at least I can still remember a time when me getting wet meant I was ready to make the beast with two backs with my Mommy.”
“But you call her your Mommy!” Joanne screamed in frustration. “Not your wife! Not your girlfriend! Not even your lover! Can’t you see how crazy that is?”
“That’s who she is now,” Maureen replied, a shadow of pure sadness crossing her face for but a moment. “For better or worse, I can’t change that right now. I’d rather have a lesser madness than a greater one. And I’m never going to be able to change back if I turn completely into some overgrown toddler, am I?” The fight came back to Maureen. “Am I?!
“No,” Joanne shook her head and moved to sit down. Maureen’s hand shot out and kept her there.
“I’m not done,” Maureen growled. “If you have a better idea on how to hold onto what’s left of your Adulthood, I’m all ears, but if you want to go and insist that you’re a big girl, Joanne, then I recommend you walk over to the stuffed animals and stay away from the finger painting or else you’ll ruin that pretty little dress of yours.”
“I’m sorry I said that,” Joanne apologized, clearly overwhelmed. “I…I just want to sit back down.”
“If you want to sit back in this circle, you’ve got to change something,” Maureen said. “And I’m not talking about your Pampers.”
Joanne broke into tears and walked away, whether to give up, cool down, or just get a fresh change was anyone’s guess.
Maureen stood in the middle of the circle, all eyes on her. She suddenly felt completely exhausted. Her diaper bulged from front to back, completely saturated and on the verge of leaking. Mentally, she chided herself for not getting a fresh one put on before the group session began. If she bent the wrong way, the poppers on her onesie would bust open and her diaper might very well sag right off her hips.
“I’m sorry, everyone,” she apologized to the rest of the group. “I need a break. Let’s meet up again after snack time and pick up where we left off.”
Everyone picked themselves up off the ground and started leaving in small groups of two and three. “Remember to stay with a buddy,” she called out as they shuffled out. “Someone who can at least talk about interests past a two year old level. There’s no shame in playing pretend, but at least try and do it like an adult. Re-enact a movie or something!”
“Excuse me,” a lanky, bony hand tapped her shoulder. Maureen turned around. It was the new guy. “I just wanted to thank you for letting me talk. I haven’t talked to anybody like that who understands what I’m…what we’re going through since this whole thing happened to me.”
“No problem,” Maureen started to walk away.
“Can I ask you a few questions?” Mark started to waddle after her. “Like, how did it happen to you?”
Maureen stopped and pivoted around to face him.
“Look, Mark,” she sighed. “You seem like a nice guy, and you’ve been through a lot, just like all of us, but I’m really not in the mood to-“
Mark interrupted, “I promise you I’m a good listen-“
“Mark.” Maureen cut him off, holding up a finger in warning. Mark leaned back as if her finger were a venomous snake.
“I’m wet.” Maureen said. “I need a change. My throat is already dry from talking so much, so I’m thirsty too. I’m going to get juice which will eventually make me wet again, and I’m having to emotionally process and struggle with that vicious cycle.” She rambled on. “And that’s just assuming that they don’t put anything in my juice to make sure that I’m not constipated; yes they do that here and you won’t notice the difference until it is too late. Get used to it.”
“I’m also emotionally drained and a wee bit cranky from having to fend off that bitch, Joanne, from potentially causing a chain reaction that could mean the death of the support group and therefore the death of any higher reasoning I might have left in me.”
Mark was completely silent. His Adam’s apple bobbed up in down as he swallowed, his throat was in knots again, only this time it was from terror of the woman in front of him instead of a wave of despair and self-pity.
“Therefore,” she concluded, “I could really use some quiet time and maybe even a little cat nap so that I can center myself and keep helping everyone adapt to this crazy mess we’re trapped in instead of completely regress mentally and emotionally. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”
“Yes ma’am,” was all that Mark said.
“Thank you.” She walked away to the changing table in the far corner of the room.
Waddling up to a giant lady in pink nursery scrubs, Maureen tugged on the woman’s pant legs.
“Oh Maurene,” the daycare worker cooed, “What’s a-matter-pumpkin? Do you need a new diapee?”
Maureen blushed a bit and nodded. It was that sense of burning embarrassment that still kept her Adult enough, so she didn’t mind it. The daycare worker knelt down and popped open the crotch snaps on Maureen’s onesie before slipping two fingers inside of her diaper. Apparently, Maureen’s opinion on the state of her diaper didn’t count for much today.
“Oh my,” the giantess gushed in mocked surprise. “You really do need a new diapee! Let’s get my widdle pumpkin all cweaned up.”
“Yes, Mommy,” Maureen muttered as she was picked up off the ground and hoisted what seemed like six feet into the air so that she could be laid down on a changing table. She still didn’t know if the world had grown or she had shrunk. It didn’t matter she supposed, as Mommy shimmied Maureen’s onesie up out of the way so that her soaking wet diaper would be on full display.
When her fiancée had gotten this new job working at a daycare, Maureen had been happy for her. Adoption was expensive, in vitro fertilization more so, and Maureen hadn’t really wanted kids anyways; not for another ten or twenty years at least. She had wanted to live it up for a while. To be young and alive, without the responsibility of having rugrats to take care of.
Her lover had had other life ambitions. But when she got the job working at this daycare, Maureen had considered it a blessing in disguise. She could get the love of her life in her bed, and her fiancée could scratch that baby fever itch with other people’s kids and leave it all at the daycare.
Then came that fateful day when Maureen had agreed to take the “grand tour” of the place before business hours. She had stayed far longer than she had intended, things took a turn for the strange, and she had crinkled when she walked ever since. That was over three years ago.
In a way, she never really left the daycare. Mommy brought it all home with them at the end of the day.
The thing she quickly learned was that she wasn’t the only one. Every “baby” there looked old enough to be in a porno. Whether or not this was the case before, Maureen couldn’t say. She’d never visited her fiancee’s work before that fateful day.
After she had adjusted to the weirdness of this all, after she had made peace with being an “Adult Baby” instead of trying to be a “big girl” like so many other regression victims, other little nuances of this existence became apparent. There were no adult kids. No adult teens. There weren’t regular kids and teens either. Everyone was suddenly either a giant grown-up, or a baby that looked like an adult. There was no in-between for some reason. No grandmas or grandpas or aunts or uncles, either come to think of it.
There were Mommies and Daddies and baby boys and baby girls and even some grown-ups that didn’t have babies, but there was no extended family. And everyone she had met at the daycare had either a Mommy or a Daddy. Not both. That’s why Mimi’s story worried Maureen. Her family might be growing. That means that Maureen still didn’t understand the rules of this strange world; and she had definitely been transported to some other planet or alternate reality or whatever, Maureen was certain of that much. That was the only logical explanation in this whole illogical scenario.
It also made her feel better that she could no longer remember Mommy’s real name. That was one of the first things to go, right after her bladder and bowel control.
But, if this wasn’t her fiancée, merely some giant dopple-ganger, or that her fiancée had been altered in some fundamental way, then it didn’t hurt so much that Maureen could only think of her as “Mommy.”
That same, bizarre logic is also why she called the giants “grown-ups”, instead of “adults”. Treating them as two separate and classifiable entities, instead of synonyms allowed her to think of herself as an “adult” despite having next to nothing in common with the giants that wiped her backside and played peek-a-boo with her on a daily basis.
The sound of ripping tapes, and the feeling of cool air rushing onto her moistened genitals as Mommy pulled the diaper open brought Maureen back to the present. She squirmed as the cold air brought goose pimples to her diaper area.
“So much pee-pee,” Mommy clucked, reaching for the wipe warmer. Mommy always used the warm wipes on her precious little pumpkin. “But you knew you needed a change, little missy. Maybe that means you’re almost ready for the big girl potty.”
Maureen rolled her eyes at that. She had seen too many Adult Babies lured into being “big kids” by the promise of urinating outside their pants. Ultimately they failed, were put back into diapers because they “weren’t ready”, and their identities went into the garbage along with the Pull-Ups. Maureen hadn’t even bothered trying to make it to the toilet the first time Mommy declared her “ready”. Nor the second. Nor the third. Not a single star on her potty chart.
She’d had three two-year old birthday parties so far, and by her reckoning the fourth was about half a year away. This universe that she’d stumbled into was determined to keep her a baby. And as long as she accepted that ugly and uncomfortable truth, she’d remain level headed enough to still call herself an “Adult Baby”, and maybe one day find a way out of this mess.
In the meantime, Maureen just closed her eyes, and pretended the warm moistness and Mommy’s hand caressing her privates was more than just a standard diaper change. As Mommy cleaned and wiped her before slipping a new diaper under her and reaching for the powder, Maureen snuck her thumb into her mouth and sucked at it. God, she was jealous of Roger right about then.
Author’s Note: So I wanted to write this out, but wanted to see if I could at least fool some people for at least a few paragraphs into thinking I was doing something semi-realistic; hence this entry at the bottom instead of the top. A lot of stories focus on getting the main character in diapers forever and ever and then end it there. I’ve always been curious on what the “And then” might look like, assuming the character isn’t regressed enough yet to not notice the difference. Then, I was listening to the soundtrack from “Rent” and the scene with a Life Support meeting- about a bunch of people with something they can’t beat trying to comfort each other so that they can live what life they have left to the fullest- and this little ditty that you just read formed in my head. Hope it was worth it. Also, in case you haven’t read it, this is set in the same scenario as “The Middle of the End.”